Our intentions are good, adhere to the norm, show up at the launch, go paddling. Not taken into account is the beating the norm’s suffered these past few months.

Don’t Follow Don, Gandalf, 1-of-3, and I show up at the launch, Bruno’s, but that’s as far as we get. Our boats remain car-topped, there’ll be no paddle to the water this evening. The wind’s beating the water into submission, pounding the waves into a thin film of white.

“I’m not going out there,” says Don’t Follow Don, “don’t wanna come back in that brew.” Gandalf nods his head, agrees. Last week, the two faced similar conditions, went out, regretted it later. 1-of-3 and I happily agree with their decision.

But not paddling dies hard. “How about we drive a car up to the brickyard next to the quarry,” Gandalf says, “leave it there.” The wind’s blowing in the direction of the quarry, a fun (?) paddle going there, nasty on the return. “We can takeout at the brickyard, shuttle back to Bruno’s by car, avoid gettin’ walloped on the water.” 

A sound idea, a car shuttle, but it loses traction, the four of us rafting up on a picnic table at the end of the jetty next to Bruno’s concrete launch ramp, the table a semi-sheltered spot to weigh our options. We lose ourselves to floating those options with supplies from our dry bags, bags that won’t see the inside of a kayak hatch tonight.

Truth to tell, by the time we’ve sipped through our options, watered them all down till nothing’s left, our dry bags empty, the wind’s moved along, just a shadow of her former self. Time’s also moved along, the sun navigating a course through an egg-yolk sky, her eye on a fast-approaching horizon.

We shuttle off to our cars, our eyes set on home.


Date: Thurseve, 2 July 2020.

No more stats. No comiX. All I can offer is a long short story published on the web, a story I penned the first month of the lockdown. Not specifically about kayaking, though kayaking does have a small role. If you’ve got the time, here’s the link: